


The Lies I Learned Tonight

by aceofsparrows



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 07:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20926433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofsparrows/pseuds/aceofsparrows
Summary: My own little re-write of the end of Newsies for Javid.... and a bit of a Davey character study bc he gets a lot of salt from the other newseis for having a family, but he's definitely been through some shiz too....NOTE: I usually write Sarah as Davey's twin, but she's older in this one...





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Every time ya think you've figured out how your muse works, she throws ya for a loop....
> 
> I actually wrote this about a year ago, back before I had AO3 (honestly, it's crazy to think about lol). I wrote it by hand in my fic notebook, and at the time of its rough draft completion it was 32 pages long. Now, after some heavy editing and worried re-reading, it's over 9,000 words and occupies a much bigger place in my heart than I originally thought it would. 
> 
> The quotes in italics at the beginning of each chapter are from "The Truth About The Moon", the BEAUTIFUL song Alan Menken originally wrote for Sarah (I'm not sure whether it was for early-stage musical Newsies or early-stage movie Newsies). Dan DeLuca and Joey Barriero performed it at 54 Below, and I immediately fell in love with it (I think it would heart-wrenchingly perfect as a Davey/Katherine duet post-rally pre-"Something to Believe In", tbh). 
> 
> Anyway, I'm posting it now bc I felt like I needed to work on/post SOMETHING while my muse struggles with writing the next chapter of Hood :) lol
> 
> Enjoy!  
-Sparrow
> 
> (PS: idk if I've said this before, but I saw Joey Barriero and Joshua Burrage in "A Bronx Tale" on tour in the spring, and i am still not over it...... watching Joshua Burrage dance was MAGICAL (ugh he's so talented))

_The moon, a natural satellite of the Earth. _

_ Latin name: luna. Hundreds of thousands of miles away from here. _

_ No sign of water, or life, or atmosphere. _

_ This is the truth about the moon, the facts are black and white. _

_ And yet I couldn't think of one while watching it tonight. _

_ I saw the words all fly away, so fast, so far, _

_ 'Till every letter, every number, had turned into a star. _

_ And was the moon especially bright? I really can't recall. _

_ And for the first time the facts of the matter didn't matter at all. _

***

The morning after the riot, Davey wakes before anyone else in his family's tiny apartment. His father is asleep in his parents' bed, foot propped up on books and cushions borrowed from neighbors; his mother is still asleep at the kitchen table, just as she was when he and Les stumbled in late last night, dried tear streaks on her face from crying with worry. Les is out cold in the bed he and Davey share, limbs thrown about in every direction, spread like a starfish, and Sarah, their twenty-year-old sister, is for the moment deeply asleep on her cot low to the floor, her one-year-old son Ari tucked beside her, his small chest rising and falling in tandem with his mother's. 

Looking at the downtrodden clock on the shelf in the kitchen, Davey knows he does not have much time before everyone wakes. He and Les will have to get to the circulation gate, Sarah will have to go work at the factory, and his mother will scrub her hands raw on a week's worth of rich people's laundry. 

But for now there is silence, and Davey creeps cautiously through the open kitchen window onto their small fire escape, careful not to disturb the fleeting, fragile peace. He sits in the cool morning air, knees pulled to his chest, watching the sunrise through the drying laundry and rusted metalwork. An automobile honks on the street far below and someone shouts, swearing like a sailor; Davey smiles sadly. _ Ah, the sounds of New York City. _ The moon is but a smudge in the pink sky, and already the temperature and humidity are climbing; today will be another hot one. 

A clatter at the windowpane makes Davey turn and Les clambers through the window, settling himself next to Davey, legs crossed. His left arm is in its makeshift sling; during the riot last night Les accidentally dislocated his shoulder and after Race helped pop it back into place he recommended putting it in a sling so it didn't hurt so much until the swelling went down. How Race knows this, whether from personal or secondhand experience, Davey doesn't let himself dwell on. 

The kid's still dressed in what he's worn the past two days, but Davey doesn't have the energy to force him to change and besides, between the injury and the less-than-fresh clothing, Les might be able to sell a few more papes than usual. They have to find some way to compensate for the two days of the strike, after all, and Sarah won't get paid her meager wages for at least another week when the month ends. Today every paper counts, price hike or no. 

Davey wonders absently where Jack is. Although they stayed late at Duane Street with the beaten and battered boys last night, there was no sign of the Manhattan leader when Davey and Les finally called it a night, said their goodbyes, and trekked home. Race didn't seem particularly worried-- he'd said he knew Jack hadn't been arrested-- but Davey still frets about it regardless. He knows Crutchie's arrest will be hard on Jack, and he hopes the Manhattan leader hasn't finally run off to Santa Fe like he'd been threatening to the night before the riot. They need him here, the boys, now more than ever. _ Davey _ needs him. 

Davey's mind goes back to that night probably more than it should. Les had gone home to help their mother with dinner, but Davey had wanted to talk to Jack about the strike; plan of action, and all that. Beyond that, though, Davey had wanted some time away from everyone to just _ talk _ to the older boy. From the way Jack had reacted to their dinner invitation that first day and the way he looks when he thinks none of the other boys are watching him, Davey had guessed he had a lot of things bottled up inside and no one but maybe Crutchie to talk to about them with. 

Davey is good with feelings, at least other people's feelings, no matter how much grief it gives him with the other boys at school. He has always been good with people in general, and he feeds off of their energy, for better or for worse. Bad days with others can leave him drained and weepy; good days with people he loves make him feel like he can go anywhere and do anything. He is (embarrassingly) quick to tears, a trait that Sarah teased him mercilessly about when they were younger. He's learned to keep his emotions in check though, now that he's begun secondary school; to pass off a cutting remark with a sarcastic retort or simply a smile. But every insult is still like a knife to his heart or a punch to the gut on the inside, leaving his psyche broken and bruised. So yeah, despite coming off as a bit of an unfeeling know-it-all, he really has just put up a barrier to keep all the hurt from getting in too deep. And he has a feeling Jack has too. 

So that night he hung back as Les ran home, and Jack took him up to his "penthouse", bragging sarcastically about the view. It really was fantastic, Davey noticed, but he supposed that after so many years up here it'd lost most of its luster to Jack. 

_ "That Katherine gal's somethin', ain't she?" Jack asked, and Davey nodded absently. _

_ "I suppose. You think she's really gonna get us on the front page of the _ Sun _ ?" _

_ Jack shrugged, leaning on the railing. Davey sighed. _

_ "So, tomorrow morning we go to Brooklyn and talk to Spot Conlon?" _

_ "Yup," Jack said, letting out a puff of air that was somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. "Tell 'im what we's plannin' an' ask 'im ta back us. Hopefully he will, cause without Brooklyn we's kinda screwed." Jack laughed cynically, shaking his head. "Ya know, I wonder if we's doin' the right thing here, Dave. Are you sure this strike is gonna work out?" He looked at Davey, and Davey shook his head. _

_ "Honestly, Jack, I have no idea. I've never done this either." He leaned forward on the railing beside Jack, both of them staring out at the city below. "But you know what I do know? Somewhere out there," he gestured with a hand off the railing, waving it absently at the buildings beneath them, "someone cares about this just as much as you or I or Katherine do, and that's all we could ever hope for, because it means we're doing something that makes a differences to someone besides just us. And that's pretty powerful, Jack." _

_ He looked at Jack, and Jack looked at him, and then they both looked quickly back out at the city. _

_ "How'd you get ta be so good with words?" Jack asked after a moment. "School?" And although it was an innocent enough question, Davey could hear the edge in Jack's voice, the deep resentment. He shrugged. _

_ "Nah. I mean, I guess I read a lot of books and stuff, but school really hasn't done much for me besides teach me all sorts of useless facts I obviously will never use." Jack narrowed his eyes skeptically and Davey frowned. "To be honest, I've been happier here these past few weeks than I ever have been at school. And I've certainly learned a whole bunch more." He looked down at his hands, and when he looked back up Jack was scowling at him, one eyebrow raised. "What?" _

_ "You's tellin' me that you don't like goin' ta school? All the boys an' I have ever wan'ed is ta get an education, ta have a chance ta go somewhere in life, an' you's sayin' it's not too great neither? You kiddin' me, Dave?" _

_ Davey didn't want to get mad at Jack in the moment, he really didn't, but after Race's snide comments just that morning about the fact that he and Les had parents and now Jack's obvious shock and distaste at Davey not liking the all-famed "school", his fuse was short and he just couldn't take it. _

_ "Look, Jack," he said, turning to face the other boy, voice hard and knuckles white on the railing. "I know that Les and I may have some things you and the guys don't, but that doesn't mean everything is peaches and cream. Our father makes us go to school because he thinks it'll prevent us from getting stuck like he did, doing dangerous work for almost no pay or protection. Hell, he's already practically given up on our older sister, Sarah, who buried her dirt-poor husband last winter because of a factory accident and has live with us again now so she can have Ma watch her baby son while she goes off to work herself to exhaustion at that same factory that killed the love of her life and the father of her child. _

_"My mother, now that my dad's out of work, had been taking on laundry on top of her sewing jobs, hunched over a steaming tub every day scrubbing her hands raw on rich people like Pulitzer's underwear." He was shaking then, feeling like his knees were going to give out and betray him to the clutches of gravity. He took an unsteady breath, refusing to look at Jack for fear he'd start crying even harder, for somehow there were tears streaming down his face. _

_ "So yeah. I'm glad I'm here, helping my family eat, because at least I'm not sitting in some dark, stuffy classroom getting teased and bullied and laughed at by boys who are all richer and smarter than me because I wore the same shirt four days in a row or I use big words or I speak with contractions or I have no lunch because I gave it to Les. I _ hate _ school, and meeting you--" his breath caught on a sob, but he swallowed it down. "Meeting you is the best thing that's ever happened to me, Jack Kelly, so don't you go trying to tell me otherwise." He swiped his sleeve across his face, trying in vain to wipe away the tears that had made clean streaks down his dirty cheeks and pooled on his chin. He felt immediately guilty for yelling at Jack; it wasn't his fault, really, that all of this had happened. But then again, it felt strangely cathartic to get it all off of his chest. For just this one moment, he didn't have to hide behind a smile anymore, pretending everything was okay and that be knew what he was doing. "And right now I'm just so scared," he added quietly. _

_ Davey fully expected Jack to retort to his outburst with some hot-headed response of his own, but the seventeen-year-old simply stood there, staring at Davey. They regarded each other in heavy silence, Jack in shock, Davey with tears drying in his eyes, breathing heavily. _

_ "Jack, I--" _

_ Jack held up a hand, and Davey shut his mouth obediently. "No, no, stop. You said your piece; you don't need ta 'pologize for somethin' that ain't your fault, and Lord knows none of that ain't." Davey slumped slightly, turning away from Jack. _

_ After a moment Jack cleared his throat and spoke again, just a bit gentler this time. "Look, Dave, me an' the boys, we may have misjudged ya, I'll say that. I shouldn't 'a assumed ya had it any easier jus' cause you gots folks an' we don't." Davey turned slowly back to look at him. "It's obvious ya got a lot 'a..." he waved a hand at Davey, searching for the right words. He didn't seem to find them, but kept going anyway. "...'a _ feelings _ all corked up in there, an' I guess even if you got a good head on your shoulders it don' mean ya don' need help every once an' awhile." Davey nodded, and Jack gave him an awkward pat on the back and a tight-lipped smile. "Now, you best be gettin' home before ya ma sends out a search party for ya. I'll see ya bright an' early tomorra, Dave." _

_ Davey nodded again numbly and climbed down the ladder, limbs all heavy and dead, barely noticing what he what he was doing until he arrived home at his doorstep twenty minutes later. _

And now he sits, a day and a half later, on his fire escape, unsure of what to do next. The sun is almost all of its way above the horizon, and Davey can hear his mother moving about in the kitchen. 

"Come on, Les," he says, shaking the last of the memory from his mind. "Let's eat before we get to the circulation gate." His brother nods and they climb carefully back through the window into the kitchen. 

Cold porridge from the morning before is on the table in cracked china, and Sarah is already seated, trying to get little Ari to eat a spoonful of the grey mush. Davey ruffles his nephew's thin, dark, downey hair as he passes, giving his sister a kiss on the crown of her head.

"Morning, Sarah. How's the little lion today?" 

Sarah smiles tiredly. "I suppose he thinks that just because he let me sleep more than four hours last night he doesn't have to eat his breakfast." She tickles her son's chin, using her baby voice to try to coax the spoon into his small mouth. "Come on, baby. Just one little yummy spoonful for Mommy, please?" Davey chuckles as Ari reaches out a fist and knocks the spoon out of Sarah's hand. "Curses," she sighs, reaching down to pick it up and wiping it on a cloth. 

Davey smiles into his porridge despite himself, remembering when Les was that age. He was always making messes-- something Les still excels at, unfortunately. 

"Davey, darling, can you take your father some breakfast, please?" His mother asks, busy packing Sarah a lunch at the kitchen counter. 

"Yes, Mama." He puts his empty bowl in the sink and takes his father's full one from the stove, bringing it into the bedroom. His father is sitting upright with a cup of watery black coffee reading a two-day-old newspaper. 

"Good Morning, Father." The man looks up from the paper, appraising his son in the doorway. 

"Morning, David. Heading to the circulation gate soon? No more of this strike silliness I hope." His father gives him a hard look, and Davey looks down, handing the bowl of porridge to his father. 

"Yes, sir. No, sir. After the riot yesterday I doubt anyone will want to continue with the strike..." he says, forcing himself to maintain eye-contact, no matter how much he wants to look away from his father's critical gaze. 

His father frowns. "There was a riot yesterday?" 

Davey swallows, kicking himself internally. He almost never lies to his parents (partially because he's a terrible liar, as Jack has told him several times already), but he recognizes that now might be a good time to omit a bit of the truth. 

"Yes. The newsies were striking peacefully but some of the bulls got involved anyway, started beating up kids for no reason. Jack's brother Crutchie was beaten and taken to the juvenile detention place, the Refuge. Some bull tried to take Les away too, but Jack and Race and I stopped him. That's how Les hurt his shoulder." His father nods, looking as though he is more concerned for the money that the two days of striking has cost him and less so for the safety of his own sons. 

"Alright. You and Les run along now. Buy 50 papers today-- we need to make up that lost money as soon as possible." 

Davey nods. "Yes, father. See you for dinner." He exits back to the kitchen, exhaling just slightly in relief that the interaction is over. Then he pockets their pape money from the wicker bowl on the side table and grabs their hats, tapping Les on the shoulder as he goes by. 

"Come on, Les, time to go." Les, who has been talking the ears off of their mother and Sarah about something or other, nods and follows his brother out the door, bouncing along behind him down the street like it's just another day. 

Davey wishes desperately that it were. 


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The "Watch What Happens (Reprise)" scene, aka Katherine definitely ships Javid and Davey is confused. 
> 
> (also some Katherine background in this chapter, feat. actual historical accuracy!)

_ Shall I try to deny all I know from a moment that's gone? _

_ Would my heart let me be someone different from me from now on? _

***

Race is the one who suggests he look for Jack at Medda's; despite his cheery mood at Jacobi's the blond boy is obviously starting to worry about their leader's absence as well. So Davey heads to the Bowery theater, instructing Les to go do something with Katherine while he convinces Jack to head the rally. Unfortunately, all they manage to do is argue until Les and Katherine find them, and even then Jack doesn't relent until Davey points out that Pulitzer's close to cracking, that with this rally they have a chance to bring this thing home. They come up with a plan, finally, and then Katherine pulls Davey aside while Les babbles on to Jack about this Sally girl he met that morning out selling. 

"He looks awful," Katherine says, glancing worriedly at the paint-splattered boy nodding along to Les' story. 

"Yeah, he does." Davey's gaze lingers, taking in not only Jack's bruises but also the dark circles under his eyes and the defeated slump of his shoulders. When he turns back Katherine is looking at him with an interesting expression that he can't quite read and he sighs. "What?" 

She gives him a small smile, shaking her head. "Oh, nothing. Just-- why are you doing this, Davey? What do you get from two days of striking when you're only selling papers in the first place to compensate for your father's lack of income?" 

Though unprepared, the answer tumbles from Davey's lips almost immediately. "Because I don't know how long Les and I are going to have to keep doing this, and it's awful what big rich people like Pulitzer are doing to kids like the newsies. Just because you were born with a better lot in life doesn't mean you get to push other people who have less than you around. And besides," he shrugs, his gaze drifting back to Jack. "Jack was right-- if my father had had a Union, my family wouldn't be in this mess in the first place." 

He turns back to Katherine, narrowing his eyes at the woman in front of him, her arms folded defensively in front of her chest, all business. "So, what are _ you _ in this for, Miss Plumber? Why would a _ serious girl reporter _ risk her career on a bunch of kids no older than herself?" 

Katherine shrugs. "You guys are my first big story. This... this could get me a _ real _ reporting position." She frowns. "Oh, God, that sounds so shallow..." Davey raises an eyebrow, but lets her continue. "I guess... well, I guess it's also because, well, I have two younger brothers-- Joe, who's a little older than Crutchie, and Herbert, who's just a toddler-- and I know that if they were in the same position the newsies are in, I'd want someone to help them." 

Davey nods, smiling faintly at her mention of her siblings. "Are you the eldest?" 

Katherine laughs. "Oh, no. We're a big family and I'm only the third down the line. I have an older brother, Ralph, and I had an older sister, Lucille. After me there's Joe and Constance and Edith, who are all only a year apart each, and Herbert, who I mentioned before." She smiles, but seems to be eager to no longer be the spotlight of the conversation as she asks, "but what about you? Anybody besides Les and your parents at home? I get the feeling you're the oldest sibling." 

This time it's Davey's turn to laugh. "No, I'm not actually. Our sister Sarah is twenty. She has a son, Ari, and she used to have a husband..." his face falls briefly, and Katherine frowns. "I suppose my family has poor luck with accidents. We lost Matthew last year to a machinery malfunction at the textile factory where they worked. It was awful-- Sarah was there when it happened." 

"I'm so sorry." 

"Thanks." They both turn back to Jack and Les, the former of which is now showing the latter how he painted the Santa Fe backdrop. 

"He has a nice smile." Davey doesn't even realize he's thought it until he says it. It's the product of something that flutters in the pit of his stomach, something vaguely dangerous-feeling. Then he flushes, looking down. "I don't know why I said that." 

"I mean, you're right. And it's something I hadn't even noticed." Katherine replies. "You notice things, Davey, I can tell. You have that thing you do with your eyes that makes whomever you're looking at feel like you're seeing their very soul. It's terrifying." She laughs lightly, partially at her own admission and partially at Davey's puzzled expression. 

"Really?" 

"Really." She nudges his shoulder playfully with her own. "So, what else do you see, Mister Soul-Searcher?" 

Davey looks back at Jack, this time taking in everything about the boy in front of him, every little look and mannerism that makes Jack _ Jack _. The words come spilling out before he can stop them. 

"He scrunches up his nose when something amuses him, and he rubs it with the back of his hand when he's embarrassed. He doesn't like making eye-contact, and even when he's looking right at you he looks somewhere slightly above or below or to one side of your eyes. 

"And he puts up the tough-guy act when he's in front of the boys, all charming and witty, but when he thinks no one's looking he looks smaller and more unsure." Davey stops for a moment, remembering something from that first day almost a month ago now. "The first day, when Les and I mentioned that we had folks, there was this look in his eyes, like we'd betrayed him somehow, like _ I'd _ betrayed him. I felt awful."

Davey sighs. "I think... I think he's afraid of losing people. And now, with Crutchie... I think he has the newsies, and he holds them so tightly and doesn't let anyone else in because he's afraid that if he does, they'll hurt him, and they'll hurt his boys, and then he'll have nothing." 

Katherine is silent for a long moment, and Davey is sure he's said something wrong. But when he sneaks a glance at her she's simply staring at Jack, speechless, as if she's suddenly seeing everything Davey has described for the first time. 

She notices Davey looking at her and she turns, giving him a fierce hug that makes him stumble backwards slightly in surprise. 

"Wha--?" 

"That was beautiful, Davey. You really _ are _ a 'soul-searcher'," she whispers into his ear, holding him tightly. "And I think that if you keep sticking by Jack like you have, he'll let you in. I see the way he looks at you and you look at him; I have a feeling this is a partnership that could last a very long time if you both don't muck it up." 

Then she lets him go and strides away, joining Jack and Les' conversation and leaving Davey alone. 

He barely notices, mind reeling. _ I see the way he looks at you and you look at him... _What?

How does he look at Jack?

And how does Jack look at him? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Joseph Pulitzer did actually have a daughter named Katherine Ethel Pulitzer, and she would actually have been the right age in 1899 had she not died at age two from illness. 
> 
> Here's what the Pultizer family would have looked like in 1899 (with Kath alive, of course): 
> 
> Ralph, age 20  
Lucille, (died age 17, would be 19)  
Katherine, age 17  
Joseph Jr., age 15  
Constance, age 14  
Edith, age 13  
Herbert, age 3
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
-Sparrow


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack goes missing once again, and Davey rises to the challenge. Set in-between "The Bottom Line (Reprise)" and the Rally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is kinda short, but the next part is EPIC, so I promise it's worth it :) 
> 
> Happy reading!  
-Sparrow

_ No. _

_ I learned the truth about the moon; the facts I learned are right. _

_ I only wish they made me feel like the lies I learned tonight. _

***

The next day after selling the evening edition they all meet up at Medda's to get ready for the rally. Davey is up on the stage directing a few of the boys in plotting out where all the boroughs will sit (Race helps with making sure any two who aren't on good terms are seated far apart) when he hears a door open and shut loudly out in the back of the house and Katherine comes running down one of the aisles, her auburn hair flying, skirts hiked up for more mobility. She completely ignores the stares of some of the less-polite (or less-obvious) newsies who gape at such indecency as a glimpse of her bloomers and petticoats in favor of bounding up the side-steps and making a beeline for Davey. 

"Davey!" She calls, panting as she strides across the stage. 

"Yeah?"

"Have you seen Jack?" She asks, worry tinting her voice. 

"Um, no, not since yesterday. Les and I sold with Race today." He narrows his eyes as Katherine sighs, brushing away a stray hair that has drifted into her line of vision. "Why?"

"Oh, this is not good, not good at all..." Katherine mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose, and now Davey's worried too. 

"Should we...?" He asks, gesturing towards the backstage. She nods and he cups his hands around his mouth to shout out into the house. "Hey Racer, take over, will ya? I gotta go talk to Katherine about something for a minute." 

"You got it, Boss," Race answers slightly sarcastically from somewhere out in the sea of seats, and Davey nods to Katherine, following her behind the velvet curtain. 

Doing a quick check to confirm that they are safely out of earshot of any of the newsies, Davey turns his full attention to Katherine. Her face is flushed, her hair coming out of its careful pins. She must have run all the way here from wherever she was before. 

"Okay, what's going on?" He asks and Katherine hesitates, nervous, her ink-stained fingers worrying at the buttons on her skirt. 

"I--um--I..." she starts, then sighs in exasperation. Davey knows this is important, but also that Katherine shouldn't be rushed. So he waits while she collects herself and tries again. "Davey, I have something important to tell you. It might be shocking, or--or you might be angry with me, but I just need you to listen." 

She gives him such a look, like she is drowning and has found he is the only buoy on the water to save and guide her, and he smiles softly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm here Katherine, no matter what." She relinquishes a small smile in return that leaves as soon as it came, her expression grave once more. Then she takes a deep breath, holding Davey's hand that rests lightly on her shoulder as an anchor as she presses on. 

"I haven't been completely truthful with you. I told you I have six siblings, and I do. I told you my byline is Plumber, and it is. I said I work for the _ Sun _, and I do-- well, I hope I still do anyway," she worries the stained lace edge of her sleeve for a moment, frowning at a spot of ink as if it were the root of her problems before remembering she had a point to all of this. "But, well... My real name is Katherine Ethel Pulitzer, and my brother Ralph is of the most powerful sons in New York, and my father is Joseph Pulitzer." She covers her face with her hands, tears finally falling, and Davey lets his hand drop limply from her shoulder, no longer quite sure what to do. He stands, dumbfounded, for a moment. Katherine is Pulitzer's daughter? It shocks him initially, but then the pieces begin to fall into place. 

Katherine is obviously well-educated, even at seventeen. Despite the fact that she works, she does something she is passionate about; not an income job, but a career. Her clothes are nice though not overly fancy, obviously well-cared for and regularly cleaned. She's practical, and she knows what audience she's playing to; the working man won't give you his story if you look like you make more in a day than he does in a week. 

He even thinks he can guess why she's kept it a secret this long. The _ World _ owner's daughter working at marrying age; and for a rival newspaper, no less? The makings of a yellow headline are right there even without exaggeration. 

But why is she telling him now?

Then he remembers with a sudden clarity where Jack had gone last night after they'd talked at Medda's: the _ World _'s offices, to tell Pulitzer personally about the rally. 

"Oh no," he breathes, and Katherine looks up at him from her hands, seeing the look on his face. It is obviously not about her secret, but rather something he has just thought of. 

"What?" 

"Jack," he says, drawing a sharp breath and looking at Katherine with something akin to terror. "Did he-- did they-- what happened last night, Katherine, at your father's office?" 

She stares at him, and it's like the bottom of his stomach has dropped out. "Well, my father had dragged me to his office to reprimand me about my article for the _ Sun _ ; how I was doing _ so well _ until this 'recent lapse in judgement'-- ugh, he's just so controlling sometimes..." she sees Davey's frown and stops herself, clearing her throat. "Right. Anyway, when Hannah-- that's his secretary-- announced that Jack was there he made me sit where Jack couldn't see me but I could still hear everything and... Oh, it was awful!" She sighs, and Davey tries to stem the mounting fear that claws at his insides. 

"My father threatened Jack by telling him that he knew about Jack's record-- he's been in the Refuge several times, did you know that? And my father told him that he had to shut down the strike or-- or..." she twists her hands in her skirt, watching them absently and avoiding eye contact with Davey. "I--I didn't hear the rest of it, and I don't know whether he took whatever Pulitzer was offering; they threw him down in the cellar to 'think it over'-- the Delanceys were gloating about it. But now no one’s seen him all day and I'm worried he's run off again." She finally looks up and Davey can see the fear in her eyes, the same fear that he knows she must see reflected back in his own. This could be the end, right here, and they all have so much riding on it. 

There is silence for a long, tense moment as Davey racks his brain for what to do. Well, relative silence-- they can hear the boys out in the house of the theater roughhousing and yelling, playing around in their excitement for the upcoming rally. The rally that may not even happen now that Jack is missing indefinitely. 

Davey sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Okay. At this point, I hate to say it, but I think we just need to hope Jack'll show up. He isn't hiding here like last time, obviously, and I doubt he'd go to the Lodging House... so we just have to go on like usual and hope for the best." Katherine visibly deflates, and Davey exhales in exasperation, gesturing vaguely. "I mean, you got any better ideas?" Katherine shakes her head reluctantly. "Exactly."

They both know that now that they've only just gotten the support of the other boroughs they can't afford to look weak; this is their only option. 

They look at each other for a moment, gathering their courage, and then Davey leads them back out onto the stage. Just in time too, because Finch comes running in at that moment, grin taking up all of his pointed face. 

"Hey Davey, they's here!" He calls, running breathless up to the edge of the stage, face glowing in the scalloped footlights. "Flushing, Richmond, Woodside-- all of 'em. Even Spot Conlon an' Brooklyn." 

He looks like he can't quite believe it even as he's saying it, and Davey simply smiles at the lanky boy. 

"Well then, let's get this thing started." 


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yayyy, Part Four!! aka the part that makes me cry every time I read/edit it!! aka my favorite part!!
> 
> This takes place post-rally and also pre-"Something to Believe In", sorta.... it's implied Jack had the conversation he does in "Something to Believe In" with Katherine after to this scene, just without the whole romance part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh, i love this part so much.... but I cried so hard writing it.... and i remember my hand being reallll tired when i finished the rough draft bc i wrote the whole part in the span of like two hours (on a school day, no less!)
> 
> Enjoy, and don't say i didn't warn you if you end up crying lol :)  
-Sparrow
> 
> (y'all, this part is NINE PAGES LONG in my google doc version... wow)

_Lies from that dreamer, that dime-novel cowboy, who believes in a fantasy called Santa Fe. _

_Given name: Jack. Someone who seems to get by with a smile. _

_Having no substance he compensates with style. _

_This is the truth about the boy, there's nothing more to say. _

_Though when I looked into his eyes I could not look away._

_And if at first I thought that he was who he claimed he was it's just because that kind of boy must be good at what he does. _

_And then as gentle as a breath, his hand was touching mine, _

_And I discovered a feeling I somehow could not define. _

***

For once in his life, Davey Jacobs is at a loss for words. So many emotions swirl inside of him he can longer keep them all straight. Anger swinging to fear and disgust and shame and then back again to anger. It blurs his vision and forces the air from his lungs, making his breath puff irregularly, never quite replenishing his brain's need for oxygen. He's dizzy with rage and betrayal, and it is an entirely new-- and terrifying-- experience. 

Beneath it all, however, there lurks something he doesn't even want to begin to understand. It scares him; it's been growing and blooming in his gut like some dark forest mushroom since that first moment he met Jack, and although it doesn't quite _feel_ dangerous, Davey knows, somehow, that it is. It must be-- dangerous and unnatural and something he knows he _cannot_ afford the think about right now. 

When he gets home his mother says nothing about his lateness or dejected expression, simply giving him a complicated look over Les' head and going back to the task of washing the nine-year-old's hair. It's Friday-- bath night-- and Davey knows he will be the last to bathe; Sarah and Ari and his parents had already taken their turn before he had even arrived home from the rally. So he sits heavily at the kitchen table as his mother lathers rough soap into his brother's chocolate curls, gazing absently out the window at the dark fire escape. 

_It's a silly name_, he thinks, brain muddled by fatigue and simmering anger. _Fire escape..._ why does the only way out have to be onto a rusted and creaking hunk of metal? Then again at this point he might prefer death via fiery inferno or malfunctioning rescue equipment to whatever he will inevitably face under the cover of darkness when his father learns that the two-day strike has essentially been for nothing. Davey just prays Les will sleep through the belt whistles and stifled screams; the poor kid's going to be upset enough already when Davey breaks the news of Jack's betrayal to him...

Good god, _Jack_... 

Davey bathes after his mother and Les have gone to bed, by the dim flickering light of a sputtering few candles. Their bathtub-- which functions as a wash basin for their mother's laundry service during the daytime-- is comically small for him. At fourteen his legs grew miles (thanks, puberty) and he has stood taller than both his parents and Sarah for three years now, still all sharp angles and weak-limbed gangliness. He has to scrunch up practically fetal to submerge his head for a briefly blissful moment while the water still holds a smidgeon of heat. 

It is calm and quiet underwater, where there is only his heartbeat and the backs of his eyelids for company. His heartbeat, steady and deep, lulling him into the push and pull of his valves and arteries pumping blood in-out-in-out. Buh-bum, buh-bum, buh-bum, buh-_CLACK!_

Something hits the kitchen window sharply and Davey startles, head bursting back above water. He uncurls himself hastily, twisting to look out the window. Who the hell--

Jack's face peers in, and for a moment all they do is stare at each other in shock. Then Jack's eyes widen when he realizes what a peculiar situation they are in and Davey blushes furiously, slipping back underwater so quickly that he almost hits his chin on the worn wooden rim of the tub. 

It is him and his heartbeat once again under the water, if only for the briefest of moments before he resurfaces, and this time the silence doesn't help to calm his racing mind. His heart beats twice what it did only seconds ago, and his thoughts pulse even faster. 

Jack. Why is he here? What does he want? Will he go away if Davey ignores just him? And how long had he been watching at the window before he threw that rock? 

So what does he do now? Davey comes back up for air and shifts uncomfortably to risk a peek over the rim of the tub. Jack is still there-- Davey can see his silhouette against the blue-black darkness-- but he has turned, back to the window. _Thank God,_ Davey thinks. His fingers and toes are starting to prune in the tepid water anyway, so he gets quickly out of the water and dries off, slipping into a clean undershirt and trousers and the same shirt he's worn the past two days. Then, leaving the tub pushed out of the way in a corner, he goes to the window, sweeping aside the curtain and lifting it open. 

"Jack," he whispers. The boy turns. "Meet me on the roof." Jack nods and Davey closes the window except for a crack (so he can get back in later). He blows out the candle and leaves the dark apartment quietly, locking the door behind him and winding his way up the pitch-black cramped staircase to the roof. 

Jack is there, seated on the edge of the brick ledge, grazing up at the stars and the big, full moon. Davey comes to stand behind him, only a few feet away. Although he certainly isn't happy with the boy in front of him, he wouldn't want to stand so close as to startle him right off the roof. 

It is Jack who speaks first, voice uncharacteristically soft and resigned. 

"I's sorry for the rally, Dave. I--" 

"You're sorry, Jack? Oh, that's just peachy." Davey barely even notices he's speaking until he's already started, the words he's had all cooped up in his brain for the past two hours spilling out without preamble. "What are you sorry about? For making a fool out of me at the rally, maybe? Or, I know, how about for doing _exactly what Brooklyn said we were going to do_ and folding at the first sign 'a resistance? You _ran_, Jack," he stabs an accusatory finger towards the older boy's turned back. "You ran whenever things went wrong. You ran after the riot, after doing nothing about Crutchie, leaving Race and I to pick up the pieces. _Do you know how many of those boys I saw in pieces, Jack_?" His voice cracks on the word 'pieces', but he plows onward.

"You weren't there when we made the front page. You weren't there when we were setting up for the rally, and Race had to tell me where to sit the boroughs so it could all go peacefully. _You weren't there_ when Katherine came to me, worrying herself to tears because she thought her father had _kidnapped_ you or something because no one had seen you all day. _All day,_ Jack!" Jack doesn't make any move to say anything in contradiction or even turn around, and for once Davey _doesn't fucking care_, because he needs to get this all out before it tears him apart from the inside, so he just keeps going. 

"So _I_ organized the rally, and _I_ spit shook with Spot Conlon because _I_ was the one who convinced him to join in the first place. And then what did you do when you finally decided to show up? You _humiliated_ me _and_ Manhattan in front of every newsie in New York City by telling all those boys who had no hope of doing anything meaningful in this world before the strike that, guess what? The higher ups were right all along, and this thing won't work out because _that's just how it is_. And then you took the money, Jack. _From the enemy_." 

He finally takes a breath, feeling an unfamiliar sort of fire coursing through his veins that is all this pent-up anger from the past few days. Vaguely, he is aware of Jack sitting in front of him, back still infuriatingly turned, but all his brain can really process at the moment is _angerangerangerangeranger_. That deep, dangerous feeling in his gut tries to claw its way up to his heart but he pushes it down. _Not now._

When Jack says nothing, still not moving, Davey takes a deep breath and continues. He might as well, after all, if Jack is just gonna sit there like a jerk-ass bump on a log and not do anything to stop him. 

"I guess at this point, Jack, I don't really _care_ if you're sorry. Good for you, I guess, for finally growing a conscious. Welcome to _being a fucking human_. And now that you feel good and sorry and you have your money, why don't you just run off to Santa Fe like you've always wanted to? Leave all this awful conflict and guilt behind and just _go_. Because if all you're gonna do is run and hide and betray us over and over again, then we don't need you here anymore Jack." 

_And that's the real root of the problem, isn't it?_ Davey thinks absently, a fly-by thought that flashes in-between one main thought and the next. 

"You've said it yourself: you're just a blow-hard; I'm the brains of the operation. And with Katherine's new plan-- which is brilliant, by the way-- we can finish this, even if you're not here to help. Race and Specs and Albert are willing to help with backup, talk to and corral the other newsies; we're going to win back Spot Conlon, and we're going to march right into Pulitzer's office and we are going to _win_. With or without you, Jack. _With or without you_." 

Davey hasn't really noticed, but he's taken enough steps forward over the course of his little impromptu speech that he's standing almost directly behind Jack now. Davey's breathing heavily when he finishes, fists clenched stiffly at his sides. Jack still sits unmoving, back turned, silent. They stay there, locked in some sort of silent stalemate for a few tense moments until Davey shakes his head incredulously, turning on his heel and marching right back towards the ladder to the fire escape, muttering under his breath about Jack's idiocy. His hand is on the railing and his foot the first rung when Jack speaks. 

"You're right, David. I am a coward." 

Davey stops cold, slowly turning back to face Jack. Jack has never called him David, not even that very first day. Always Davey or Dave, but never David. Something, somehow has changed. 

Jack had turned while Davey was busy walking away, and he faces him now, far enough away in the darkness that Davey can only make out his general shape and few finer details. Absently, he notices the lack of Jack's ever-present flat-cap. A stray breeze ruffles his dark hair, and Davey feels it blow through his own damp curls, sending a quick shiver down his back. 

"I's a coward, and a liar, and I honestly don' know why I keep runnin' if it never does me no good. Because this time, if I run..." he trails off when his voice cracks on 'run', and Davey takes an unconscious step closer. Jack sighs, something Davey isn't sure he's ever witnessed him do before tonight. "I know you's mad-- you are so, so right to be mad-- but I wish I could show you _why_ I did what I did, Dave I--" Davey can tell Jack wants to finish his thought, he really does, but he can't because Davey sees now that he's a little closer that Jack's whole body is trembling, suddenly wracked with hitching, hiccuping, gasping sobs. The boy in front of him buries his face in his hands and doubles over, sinking to his knees, and Davey stands there like an idiot, and all his brain will tell him is _Jack, Jack, Jack,_ over and over and over again until it becomes a pulsing thought, throbbing through his extremities along with his heartbeat. 

_Jackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjack....._

That godforsaken dangerous feeling rushes up from his gut and into his brain, threatening to take over everything, and Davey does nothing to stop it. 

"I'm so sorry," Jack keens from his hunched position on the rough tar. His voice is thick and rough and pleading, tearing at Davey's insides like a meat tenderizer. "So, so, so, so sorry. I'm so sorry." 

Davey, finally regaining some control over his limbs, kneels down in front of Jack, unsure of what to do. He didn't expect this at all; he expected to yell and have Jack yell back like he always does, and then for there to be some sort of resolution. But this? Davey has no idea how to handle this. He may be usually good with emotions, but this is _Jack_, reduced to tears in a crumpled mess on the roof of Davey's tenement building. It's totally left field. 

Davey has the sudden, awful, sickening feeling that he isn't in control anymore. 

And the strike... they still have the strike to worry about. Good God. 

Jack is still rocking back and forth in front of him, sobbing his guts out, his breathing fast and erratic. He keeps muttering, but Davey can't understand him anymore though the tears and the fact that Jack has his face pressed into his knees. Davey reaches out tentatively, setting a hand on Jack's shoulder. When there's no change in the situation Davey crawls closer, hands and knees scraping on the pebbled tar, and wraps his arms slowly around Jack. The boy stops moving rather abruptly, but makes no motion to indicate Davey should let go, and he continues to cry quietly. Davey, sinking into the one-sided embrace, rests his chin carefully on Jack's shoulder. Now that they are so close, he can hear what Jack has been trying to say all this time through the tears. 

"I was so scared, Dave. Pulitzer--he--he said he'd hurt ya, that he'd hurt th' boys. An' Snyder-- he wan'ed ta lock you an' Les up in th' Refuge..." he takes a wet, shaking breath. "I--I couldn' let that happen ta ya, Dave--" a shuddering sigh, "I--I couldn' lose ya like that, Davey, I jus' couldn't." 

Davey sits back on his heels at this, frowning at Jack. "Why?" 

Jack lifts his head, playing the avoidance game with his gaze. His eyes are puffy and red, and he looks at everything like he is seeing it all for the first time. 

"Why?" He echos, and Davey nods. Jack looks down at his knees, as if the answer is somehow written on his trouser leg. "Because, well, because..." he looks back up, and Davey thinks it's the first time Jack's ever actually looked him right in the eye. They stare at each other, neither breaking the tense eye contact, the 'because' hanging heavy in the air between them. 

And then, before either of the boys can really process what is happening, Jack reaches out and roughly takes Davey's face in his hands, kissing him hard and full on the mouth. 

That dangerous feeling, the one that Davey has had yet to fully understand or accept, suddenly makes itself clear. It floods his heart with warmth, rushing with each of his heartbeats through his bloodstream, making his limbs and fingertips tingle and his brain suddenly hyper-aware. Jack's lips are warm against his, he notices with startling clarity, slightly chapped and bitten from nervous habit. Making a noise deep in the back of his throat he didn't know even lived inside of him, Davey leans into the kiss, deepening it and feeling Jack's mouth move against his. It is wonderful, and perfect, and-- 

A little voice in the very back of his mind whispers insidious doubt, and Davey is thrust back to reality. Time-- which had seemed to stretch on and on endlessly during the kiss-- snaps like a taught-and-then-let-go rubberband and Davey pulls back abruptly, disengaging himself from Jack, breathing hard. He touches his lips, still feeling Jack's gentle yet hungry touch there somehow; a phantom kiss lingering. The pieces click together one at a time, showing him in full force what he has just done, and in true Davey Jacobs fashion, he panics. 

"Oh God," he breathes, and Jack blinks at him, still slightly startled from Davey's sudden movement. 

"Wasn't _that_ bad, was it?" Jack asks sheepishly, only half-joking. His tone is so very _Jack_, but also so very sad that Davey realizes what this must look like and sputters out a reply. 

"What? No, no, no, I just-- I've never--" 

"Kissed anyone, or kissed a fella?" Jack finishes for him, eyebrows raised slightly in amusement despite the situation. Davey fiddles with his fingers in his lap. 

"Both," he says, barely more than a whisper. Jack nods, looking out a the dark skyline beyond the roof's edge. 

"I haven't either. I mean, I've come close with a few girls, but it's never actually happened, ya know? And you's definitely the first fella." He smiles, but when Davey doesn't return the expression Jack's face falls. "Did I-- should I not have-- Oh, God are you not--"

"No, no," Davey says firmly, holding up a hand to cut Jack off. "You're fine. It helped, with... _things _... the kiss. Lots of _things_ I wasn't sure about before and am _definitely_ sure about now. But, why me? I mean..." Davey struggles for some way to put all of the thoughts in his head into words-- and God forbid, sentences -- that are actually coherent. So he starts over with a new thought, one that is eating away at him the most. "Isn't this wrong? I mean, this--" he waves a hand vaguely between him and Jack, "--is illegal, right? We--we could be hung for this, or at the very least sent to jail." 

Davey looks so genuinely worried, but all Jack can do is laugh. 

"Dave, if they hung every kid like us in the city I guarantee at least half 'a the newsies in New York'd be swingin'." 

Davey's eyes widen like saucers. "You mean...?" 

"Jeez, Dave, for such a smarty-pants you sure can be dumb sometimes. I mean, why do ya think Race is the only one 'a my newsies who ain't afraid to sell on Spot Conlon's turf? Why can ya never seem ta find Blink without Mush or the other way around? We've all spent years protectin' an' takin' care of each other, and it's only nat'ral that sometimes those connections become a little more than friendly." He shrugs, watching with an amused smile playing at his lips as Davey sits in silence, processing it all. 

Then his eyes find Jack's and he grins, whatever tension that has existed up until now dissipating with the cool night breeze that blows through. 

"I've never really had anything like that, I guess: a bunch of friends who all look out for each other no matter what." Davey admits in the silence, and Jack moves to sit next to him, their backs leaning against the brick lip of the roof. "It's always just been me and Sarah, and later me and Sarah and Les. None of us have friends, really, and our parents have lost whatever loving spark they had when they came here to this dirty factory of a city." 

Jack nods. "My old man changed when my ma died. The streets sucked the life right outta him without her around ta breathe it back inta him every evenin', ya know? I'd already practically been livin' on my own by the time he finally drank himself ta death. I met the boys an' started sellin' papes the summer I turned eleven. Been with 'em ever since; they's the only real family I's ever known." 

Davey smiles, shaking his head in disbelief. "You know, I can't believe I was actually scared of you that first morning at the circulation gate. I was terrified you'd rob me or beat up Les or something. And now we're..." he looks down at where their hands are resting next to each other on the warm concrete. Jack slowly laces his fingers though Davey's longer, paler ones, and Davey squeeze tightly in response. They gaze each other for a moment, grinning like fools in the darkness. 

"You snuck up on me, Jack Kelly. I never even saw it comin'." 

"For sure?" 

"For sure." 

Jack laughs at Davey's over-exaggerated imitation of Jack's accent, and Davey can't help but laugh as well. 

"So, shall we agree? We're even, we're trying again, you and I, and we're going to win this thing?" 

Jack nods. "Even, trying again, winning." 

"To new beginnings and best friends!" Davey proclaims triumphantly, pretending to raise an imaginary glass in a toast. 

"To new beginnings and best friends," Jack agrees, raising his own imaginary glass and clinking it with Davey's. "And to maybe a little more," he adds, taking Davey's other hand in his. 

"And maybe more," Davey whispers, and they both lean in, sharing another shorter, sweeter kiss. 

And there, up on the rooftop under the twinkling stars and the big full moon with Jack, Davey feels something he has never felt before: safe, and loved, and so very _wanted_. He had found his place in the world, he thinks, smiling, and though it may surprise him a little, that place is by Jack Kelly's side. 

Because for better or for worse, they are in this together. 

*** 

_Fly away, Santa Fe, you're the seeds of a dream not plan. _

_Lovely dream, though it seems like the dream of a boy, not a man. _

_So, _

_At least I don't shed many tears, down here in my cocoon. _

_Where I'm protected by my facts, like the truth about the moon. _

_Moon, a natural satellite of the Earth; the same size no matter where you are. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, that's it! Hope you enjoyed it!  
I started writing a sequel at one point in the spring, but I have no idea if I'll end up continuing it. Anybody want a sequel? 
> 
> (Also, any predictions for the next Hood chapter? I know I'm supposed to be the one writing it, and I swear I know where the plot is going, but I love hearing theories anyway and they help me get going, so if anyone has any....) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
-Sparrow

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought in the comments! I love hearing thoughts/musings/critiques... it keeps me going :) 
> 
> Have a great day!  
-Sparrow


End file.
